The Sea Is A Collector, Quick To

There Is No Pleasure Subtler Than The Sensation Of Being A Good Workman; And In Work There Is The Sense Of Consanguinity-unconscious As A Rule But Sometimes Conscious.

I, Too, Dislike It. Reading It, However, With A Perfect Contempt For It, One Discovers In It, After All, A Place For The Genuine.

The Prey Of Fear, He, Always Curtailed, Extinguished, Thwarted By The Dusk, Work Partly Done, Says To The Alternating Blaze, "again The Sun! Anew Each Day; And New And New And New, That Comes Into And Steadies My Soul."

I Am Hard To Disgust, But A Pretentious Poet Can Do It

There Is A Great Amount Of Poetry In Unconscious Fastidiousness.